King's Castle
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: The cast members of an old TV show are being hunted.  Follows 'The Odd Quad'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _It occurred to me in the course of writing this that if you've been trying to send me a message through this site, it won't have reached me. For some reason and Juno don't get along, and my primary e-mail is through Juno. So if you have any story ideas or thoughts for plotlines or anything else, you can let me know in a review, or if you have my e-mail address, just send a message directly to me. Meantime, here's the latest. Thanks to jtbwriter, Kyryn, Harry2 and Bishop T, and special thanks to PDXWiz for assistance with the Latin and with naming the bad guy. Enjoy, all!_

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§ § § -- March 6, 2004

"Did the triplets allow you to sleep last night?" Roarke asked his daughter, half in concern, half in jest. The news that Christian and Leslie would become parents to three at one shot had been a hot potato that the Enstads couldn't at first figure out how to handle. They had finally gone to Roarke and told him; after his amazement had subsided a bit, he'd suggested that Christian tell his family in confidence, then give Myeko an exclusive scoop on the news and update the royal website immediately after she was finished interviewing them. They had done as he'd suggested, and now the royal site was generating more hits than Christian had ever seen it do on a daily basis. They had made light of the situation, but Leslie's pregnancy was beginning to take its toll on her now that she had started her sixth month. She was more easily exhausted and had developed the habit of taking an afternoon nap; her abdomen had started to itch because the skin was stretching from growth of the uterus; and she felt the occasional tingling feeling in her hands.

Roarke had asked the question because, as if on a signal, a day or two after her last appointment with Dr. Hannaford, the babies had begun a nightly ritual of kicking Leslie just when she most desperately wanted to fall asleep. He got an eye-roll from her and a wry grin from Christian, who stood beside her. "They kicked so much they rocked the bed slightly, and even I had trouble getting to sleep," he remarked. "I can only imagine what they must be doing to poor Leslie."

"I feel like their personal football," she muttered, and Christian and Roarke laughed sympathetically. "Not even five and a half months, and I'm starting to wish this were all over with already. But Dr. Hannaford wants to try to keep me pregnant till past my birthday at least." She groaned and rubbed her stomach. "Two more months. I'm counting the days."

"She's begun scheduling Leslie's appointments for every two weeks now, rather than every four," Christian said. "It's come far enough now, and there are enough babies waiting for us to start caring for them, that we're beginning to take each day individually. Looking ahead is too draining."

Roarke nodded. "Quite understandable," he said. "Perhaps it will help to begin thinking of ways to decorate their bedrooms, discussing possible names…"

"Oh, the name game," Christian groaned and laughed with some resignation. "Leslie tends to think of English names and I tend to think of Scandinavian ones. So far, the only thing we've agreed on is that if there are boys, none of them will be a junior."

"Exactly," said Leslie. "I think a boy should have his own name and not just sound like a shadow of his father. And Christian's experience with King Arnulf the First and King Arnulf the Second should be enough explanation for his attitude."

On the laughter that generated, Christian kissed Leslie, made her promise to tell him promptly if anything untoward should occur, and drove away to work. Roarke and Leslie got into the car that came around for them, and in a few minutes they stood side by side at the plane dock, with Leslie enduring interested glances from the native girls. She looked at Roarke and observed, "They must think I'm getting bigger by the week, because they keep staring at my gut."

"Try to take it as a sign of concern," Roarke suggested. "Everyone on the island is watching your pregnancy, and undoubtedly so is everyone in Lilla Jordsö."

"Ugh," moaned Leslie, and he grinned as their first guest came down the docking ramp: a very pretty Hispanic woman around Leslie's age. He gestured to her.

"Do you recognize this lady, perchance?" he asked.

Leslie squinted at her. "She does look familiar," she murmured.

"She should," said Roarke. "That is Paloma Esperanza, former child actress, who portrayed Glorrie on your favorite television series, 'King's Castle'."

Leslie gasped, "Oh my God, it is! Is she here alone?"

"Yes," Roarke said and peered at her askance. "Were you expecting someone else to accompany her? I thought you knew what had happened to the other cast members."

"Well, as much as was ever revealed," Leslie said and began to tick off on her fingers. "Meredith Hansen—Dawn—died of leukemia three years after the show was canceled. Mason Chen—Chang—was murdered a year after that…they say by a gang member. Damian Mullawney—Harry—disappeared right after Mason Chen was killed, and no one knows what happened to him. And Carson Howland Casey went into seclusion in some undisclosed location."

Roarke nodded. "That's quite good," he said, "but as always, there are things you and the rest of the world don't know. Even Miss Esperanza doesn't know." His voice sounded a little ominous, and when Leslie turned to look at him, he simply introduced the next guests. She sighed gently and wondered what mysteries would be solved that weekend, while Roarke raised his glass and delivered the welcoming toast Leslie had heard every week for so many years. She could hardly wait to talk to one of her childhood idols.

‡ ‡ ‡

Paloma Esperanza, it turned out, was ostensibly on the island to tape an interview for the upcoming DVD, talking about her experiences on the television series, and told Roarke when she came in, "I'm really glad the producers picked your island to do the interview, Mr. Roarke. What a beautiful place. I used to wonder if we'd ever get to film an episode here, but we never got that lucky." She grinned at Roarke's chuckle.

"I am delighted," he said. "Why don't you sit down. Would you care for some refreshment?" Paloma shook her head, and he gave a nod. "You may have heard of my daughter, Leslie Enstad…"

"I have," Paloma said. "You got kind of famous once you married Prince Christian, you know. When I read the initial interview you and he gave, the day after your wedding, I thought 'King's Castle' should have done an episode based on your life. The orphaned girl without anyone left, moving to this little paradise, marrying a prince and now expecting triplets. Of course, from what I've learned since then, you're sick of the fame."

Leslie grinned sheepishly. "Guilty as charged. It might interest you to know that I'm a huge fan of the series. It started the year before I was orphaned; but once I learned what the premise was, I was interested. After I came here I was hopelessly hooked, because the characters' situations sounded kind of like mine—four homeless orphans adopted by a lonely, crusty rich man with no family."

"We actually have fans left?" Paloma kidded, and they all laughed. "That's great to hear…thank you. I'm sure Mr. Roarke was neither lonely nor crusty—"

Leslie laughed delightedly. "No, you couldn't say that! But it took us a while to warm up to each other, and in those first days I really felt a kinship with the characters on the show. Incidentally, my husband watched it too."

"No kidding," said Paloma and shook her head. "I miss the old days sometimes. We had such a good time doing the series, and Carson Howland Casey was a mentor to me. We learned so much from him. Everybody thought he was like Abernathy King on the show, but in real life he was completely opposite of that." She looked at Roarke. "When Meredith and then Mason died, he called me both times and we cried over the phone together. Then Damian disappeared, and I was afraid something was going to happen to me next, so I made the decision to stop auditioning. And shortly after that, Howie disappeared too." She noted Roarke's and Leslie's odd looks and explained, "That was Carson Howland Casey's nickname. He was very particular about whom he let use it. Anyway, the story goes that he's a recluse now, and nobody's heard of him in over ten years."

Leslie nodded. "I remember that. The series ended in 1984 after its eighth season, and then in 1987 Meredith Hansen died. Mason Chang was killed in 1988."

"Right," said Paloma. "Before the year was out, Damian vanished, and by the next Valentine's Day Howie had sequestered himself somewhere. Someone ferreted him out a few years later, and he caused a minor flare-up because he cursed out all the reporters who tried to get some comments out of him…said some really nasty things. That was back in April of 1992. No one's heard a word from him since then."

"I always thought it was strange," Leslie remarked. "I used to keep an eye on celebrity news, hoping for something else on the 'King's Castle' cast, but no word ever came out."

Paloma smiled ruefully. "I was keeping a low profile myself," she said. "We were lucky, actually. Howie was a very shrewd investor and gave our parents some great advice. It helped keep Meredith's parents from going bankrupt when she got sick, and the money provided decent homes for Mason's and Damian's families. And I've been able to live on my investment dividends, since my parents died about eight years ago." She sighed and turned to Roarke. "Two things brought me here. The first was my decision to start writing my biography, about my experiences on 'King's Castle' and with the others on the show, and what show business is like in general, things like that. The other was when the owners of the series in syndication contacted me and asked me to do an interview for the DVD. I was thrilled at the chance, especially after they said they had contacted you, Mr. Roarke, and asked if it could be done here."

Roarke smiled back. "I'm very happy to know that, Miss Esperanza…but there is another reason you were asked to come here." He settled back in his chair and glanced back and forth between Paloma and Leslie before smiling a little in his daughter's direction. "Do you recall the abrupt and rapid sale of the Lightwood-Wynton mansion just about twelve years ago, Leslie?"

She cast back for a moment, then nodded with sudden recognition. "It was a strange event," she said. "You didn't say who bought it…it was all very hush-hush."

"With good reason," Roarke said. "The purchaser was none other than Carson Howland Casey."

Paloma and Leslie both stared at him. "Then Howie's here?" Paloma exclaimed.

"And he's been here for all these years and no one ever knew it?" Leslie put in.

"Indeed he has," Roarke confirmed. "He asked that the sale be private and carried out as rapidly as legalities would allow, so that he could take immediate refuge here. I saw him only once myself, and he insisted that everything be kept secret. He wanted no publicity, no word of any kind. That's why I never told you, Leslie."

"Does he know I'm here?" Paloma asked.

"No, he doesn't," Roarke said gently. "However, perhaps you will be the key to his rejoining the world, Miss Esperanza."

Paloma leaned forward in her chair. "So you'll let me see him, then?"

Roarke nodded. "I must caution you," he said, "I cannot guarantee that he will agree to see you, and I don't know what sort of disposition he has or what his physical condition is. I know only that he is possibly the most reclusive inhabitant I have ever had on my island." He looked thoughtful. "He has a bare skeleton staff working for him, as I understand it, and all his needs are provided for by them, so that he need never venture outside his home. I don't think such a lifestyle is good for him, quite honestly; but I have respected his wishes through the years, and only your arrival on the island provokes consideration of any breach of those wishes. Your visit may be precisely what he needs to come out of seclusion…or it may be the catalyst that drives him to even deeper isolation."

Paloma blinked, swallowed visibly and slowly sank back in the chair. "That puts a big burden on my shoulders, Mr. Roarke," she remarked dubiously.

"If you prefer, you may merely conduct the interview for the DVD," Roarke said, "and leave here after it's complete."

Paloma frowned and shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "Now that I know Howie's here, I really want to see him. He's the only other cast member still living, and since my own parents are gone now, I think he's the last link with one of the happiest parts of my childhood." She focused wryly on Roarke. "Besides, the producers seem to think that if anyone can talk Howie into agreeing to an interview for the DVD, it'd be me. Not that I had much chance of it. After all, till just now I didn't even know where he was."

Roarke smiled. "Then you do wish to make the attempt?"

"Yes, I want to try," Paloma said. "I think it'll be worth it if I can get in to see him."

"Very well, then," Roarke said and smiled. "Leslie will take you there, and if you have any questions at all, you might ask her. I suspect she in turn will have some for you."

Paloma grinned. "I'd love to talk about the show. I don't meet too many people who want to discuss it. Maybe I was typecast, and maybe Glorrie will haunt me for the rest of my life. But I don't really resent it. The show was good to me, and I'm grateful. So I'm glad to meet a fan, and I'll do whatever I can to make the DVD better."

"That's terrific," Leslie said with enormous anticipation. "If you don't mind, we could take a quick detour to Christian's and my house so I can get my autograph book. I'd be so thrilled if you'd sign it."

Paloma giggled and said, "Sure, I'd be happy to! Is it far?"

"Christian and Leslie live in a somewhat remote residential area known as the Enclave," Roarke explained, "and Mr. Casey's home is located there; so it won't be very far out of the way for either of you. Before you go, Miss Esperanza, you may wish to freshen up and rest. With Leslie's pregnancy, I have begun curtailing some of her activities, and since her doctor has lately prescribed additional rest periods, I think it best if both you and she relax for a time before you make the trip there."

"I think that'll be fine," Paloma agreed. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke."

When she had left, Leslie rubbed her stomach where one of the triplets had just delivered a kick and remarked, "Maybe this fantasy will help distract me a little from all the sudden discomfort I'm starting to have." Roarke grinned and handed her a stack of letters across the desk, then reached for the phone.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- March 6, 2004

A little more than an hour later, Leslie drove Paloma in the direction of home, her excitement apparently transferring itself to the babies, who were poking and prodding at her from within. Paloma must have seen one particularly energetic shove, for she laughed and observed, "I guess your little ones are awake!"

"Little place-kicking turkey," Leslie muttered good-naturedly, making Paloma laugh again. "Christian's started watching me every time I tell him the babies are kicking. I think he wants to see the movements pooching out my skin."

Paloma shook her head, still laughing. "From everything I've read and heard, he dotes on you, doesn't he? What's it like to be married to a prince?"

Leslie smiled and remarked, "Well, when he first came here, he introduced himself as just plain Christian Enstad. He had a low enough profile that I didn't recognize him for who and what he was. Then a guest unwittingly forced him to reveal that he was royalty, and for a while I was uneasy around him. But Christian didn't act like a prince at all, not the way I always thought princes were supposed to act. And more than that, he _wanted_ to not be a prince anymore. I remember the day when we got the news that his title had been officially revoked. The first words he said were, 'At last, I'm just a face in the crowd!' Except it never really happened, unfortunately. Officially Christian might be a commoner, but as far as most of the island is concerned, he's still royalty. People bow to him and call him 'Your Highness'. I've gotten used to it, and I guess you could call it my only reminder that I'm the wife of a prince. Most of all, to me, he's simply Christian, my husband." She cast Paloma a slightly sheepish glance. "You're right, he does dote on me, and it's wonderful…except right now. His doting has turned almost into smothering."

Paloma smiled wistfully. "I should have your complaints."

"Aren't you married, or involved with anyone?" Leslie asked curiously, turning into the main access road to the Enclave.

"No, I just never really met the right man, I guess," Paloma said with a shrug. "I'm old enough now that I'm used to living alone, and I guess I like it that way. That doesn't mean I'd object if Mr. Right happened to come along." She peered curiously at Leslie. "How old are you?"

"I'll be 39 in May," Leslie said, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes I can't quite believe it."

"I just turned 39 myself," Paloma told her, surprising her. "I was actually the youngest one in the cast. Meredith was two years older, Mason four years older, and Damian about eight months older than me. We used to pester Howie to reveal his age to us, and he kept telling us to bug off. Then Mason found out, and after that we made sure to give him a huge, noisy birthday party every year." She grinned at Leslie's laugh. "I wonder how long it's been since someone threw him a birthday party." Her expression grew pensive, and they were both silent for a moment.

When Leslie made the left turn into the lane where she and Christian lived, she spoke again. "How much do you know about his hermit tendencies—Mr. Casey's, I mean?"

"Well, he's in his late 70s now, and I think he has some sort of infirmity, which would be plenty of reason for him to squirrel himself away. Or at any rate, he'd think so. He had a lot of pride in him, Leslie. He'd have hated for anyone to know he was anything less than perfect. I'm not sure how severe it is, or whether it's a progressive thing. No matter what it is, he wouldn't want his image marred—he'd want people to remember him the way he was in his last role—which, of course, was Abernathy King."

"Maybe he'll actually talk to you," Leslie said, although she personally doubted it. Still, she thought, she could be wrong; it wouldn't be unusual. She pulled into the Enstad driveway and killed the engine. "Want to come in for a minute?"

"Yes, thanks," Paloma agreed and followed her into the house. It was quiet; the construction on the new wing had just been completed the previous week, and Christian and Leslie had been savoring the silence when they woke each morning. "This is a beautiful house, Leslie," Paloma exclaimed, gazing around.

"Thank you," said Leslie, heading for the bookcase on one wall to ferret out the autograph book she'd received for her fourteenth birthday. After almost twenty-five years, it contained a lot of signatures, and there were only a few pages left. "Christian designed it, and a friend of ours put us in contact with an architect who translated it into blueprints. We just had the new wing finished, and all that's left is decorating the bedrooms for the babies. I wanted to paint, but Christian flat-out refused to let me. He thinks the paint fumes are going to kill the babies and knock me out cold for a month."

Paloma giggled and accepted the book and a pen. "I hope I can meet your husband before I leave. Not just because I've never met royalty before, but also because he sounds like a real peach of a guy. You're very lucky." On the blank page she wrote, _To Leslie, with sincere friendship, Paloma Esperanza_ and handed the book and pen back, then added with an impish twinkle, "Don't be too quick to put that away. I might be able to talk Howie into signing it for you, too." She winked and Leslie laughed.

"I think Christian would enjoy meeting you too," she said. "I hope we can arrange that—maybe tomorrow evening at dinner or something. Well, are you ready to see if you can talk to Carson Howland Casey for the first time in over a decade?"

"Lead on," Paloma said, and they left the house. In a few minutes Leslie had reached the end of the lane and made another left turn onto the access road; she propelled the car up the road about three hundred yards or so before making a sharp right into a long circular drive. Paloma stared in amazement at the unusual house; it was smaller than most homes in the Enclave, and had a Tudor façade with a pair of two-story A-frame sections nestled in between three round towers complete with battlements. "The architect of this place must have been either drop-dead drunk, or about twelve years old," she said finally.

Leslie laughed and admitted, "I always thought it was interesting, myself. I guess I'd make a lousy architect—I love unusual building styles."

Paloma looked at her curiously. "Are you really sure Howie lives here?"

Leslie nodded. "Yup. It used to be owned by a wealthy British family who almost never came here to use it. I've been inside it once, when the Brits still owned the place. I hope you get the chance to look at the interior too."

"I hope it looks better than the outside," Paloma mumbled dubiously, and Leslie grinned. "Well, if this is it, then there's nothing for it but for me to try to see Howie and maybe find out what possessed him to buy a place like this."

"Good luck, Paloma," Leslie offered gently.

Paloma smiled. "Thank you, Leslie," she said, lifting a small, soft-sided suitcase from the middle seat of the station wagon.

"Do you want me to wait?" Leslie asked.

"No, go ahead and go," Paloma said. "If Howie lets me in, I'll give you a call when I'm ready for a ride back to my bungalow."

"What if he doesn't?" Leslie asked.

Paloma shrugged, and without replying walked slowly to the front door of the odd-looking mansion. Leslie waited, watching while Paloma reached up and rang the bell beside the door. It sounded off so loudly that Leslie could hear it from where she sat. After a moment she saw a small square trapdoor fly open at about eye level in the main door; satisfied that Paloma had gotten a response, she let the car coast forward along the driveway.

Paloma reared back slightly when the small door opened and a dark-brown eye squinted warily out at her. It studied her for a moment, then widened, before the little door whacked shut and the main door opened enough to see who the eye's owner was. Almost instantly Paloma recognized the handsome African-American man standing there.

"Damian!" she cried.

"My God, Paloma, is it really you?" Damian Mullawney asked, staring harder than ever at her. "There hasn't been anything in the gossip mills about you in years. We'd started wondering if you'd met the same fate as Mason and Meredith."

"I thought the same thing about you," Paloma said, still shocked. "Where've you been all this time? What happened to you and what're you doing here?"

Damian frowned and retreated a step or two into the house, sidestepping her question with a half-query of his own. "I assume you're here to see Howie."

"If he'll let me," Paloma said hopefully.

Damian grinned unexpectedly. "Frankly, it's good to see a friendly face," he said, "especially such a familiar one. Listen, come on in here and wait while I go tell Howie you're here and find out if he's willing to see you." He stepped back enough to let her in, then shut the door behind her and trotted off somewhere. Paloma waited uneasily, bag in hand, gazing around her. Now that she was inside, she could see that the middle "tower" of the structure was actually oblong rather than round, giving the place depth that wasn't apparent from the outside. About midway down the two-story entry, large arched entrances opened one on each side to other rooms. Small round windows dotted the walls at regular intervals near the ceilings; there was a very long Persian-style runner rug that stretched from one end of the entry to the other, and there were a few chairs, along with a small mail table near the door. The house was quiet, increasing Paloma's uneasiness and making her strain to listen for sounds. She glanced at the stack of envelopes on the mail table and noticed they were all addressed to "owner" or "occupant", as if not even the local mail carrier knew who lived here. _Mr. Roarke keeps good secrets,_ she thought with faint amusement.

Damian came back out after several long minutes, looking apologetic. "I don't mean to sound suspicious, Paloma," he said, "but Howie doesn't believe it's you."

Paloma sighed softly. "It figures. Well, what about you? Does Mr. Roarke know you're here, along with Howie? How'd you get here?"

Damian looked away, contemplating the rug for a moment, then eyed her with a slight softening of attitude. "I guess it's okay to tell you," he said. "All those rumors you ever heard about Mason being killed by a gang? Well, they're true. Everybody thought it was a one-off thing…at least till they started targeting me. I'm lucky I'm still alive, Paloma. My house got shot up, and my wife was killed." His face twisted for a moment and Paloma wanted to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his arm. "I tried to keep a low profile after that, and I guess I did all right for a while…nothing happened for long enough that I decided to start going out on auditions again. Within two weeks somebody shot at me again. The next day I heard from Howie, telling me he'd send a driver for me. I've been living with him ever since then."

"What about your parents?" Paloma asked.

Damian shook his head. "I didn't want any loser gangs using them for target practice. I figured my best choice was to hide out with Howie. He could afford protection. We were doing pretty well till some snooping reporter finally dug out the secret of where he lived, and Howie gave the hordes a real snoutful." He grinned at some memory. "Never heard him cuss like _that_ before. Right after that, he got hold of Mr. Roarke and arranged to buy this place, in total secret." He shook his head slowly, his expression warming, and remarked, "I really respect that man. He owns his own island, and that gives him a lotta power. He never asked any questions, just arranged for a real speedy and quiet transaction, and made sure we got moved in here without a single soul nosing around us looking for gossip stories. It's been peaceful ever since then."

"But…" Paloma stared at him. "What do you _do_ here?"

"I'm kinda the handyman around here," Damian said. "There's a technical school over on Coral Island, and Mr. Roarke arranged for me to take a few courses there, so I'm qualified as an electrician, and I do a little plumbing and some carpentry. I keep the place in good shape. There's a staff of three or four, so they handle any errands that require going off the property." He gave a start and stared at her. "Man, I'm a crummy host. You want something to eat or drink? They'll be serving lunch pretty soon…"

Paloma broke in, "Damian, if I eat here with you, then I want to eat with Howie too. Why doesn't he believe it's me? Is he that paranoid?"

Damian said uneasily, "It's not exactly paranoia. Look, Paloma, he's permanently confined to a wheelchair now. He's really stubborn that nobody sees him now, except me and the staff, because he doesn't want to ruin his image with 'King's Castle' fans. 'Disillusion' is the word he used, but it amounts to the same thing. He wants people to remember him the way he was during the TV series."

"What would it take to persuade him to see me?" Paloma persisted.

Damian scowled impatiently. "Man, girl, you're stubborn!"

"I intend to get what I came for," Paloma said.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Damian wanted to know. "I mean, you might be here for a vacation, but I don't buy it—because then you wouldn't know Howie and I are here. So what's the scoop?"

Paloma grinned and told him, "The first season of the show is coming out on DVD in the summer, and I've been asked to do an interview for it—behind the scenes, reminiscing, things like that. They must have been afraid I'd turn them down, because before I could even say anything they enticed me by telling me they'd arranged with Mr. Roarke to do it here on Fantasy Island. Now that I know you're here, and Howie's all right, you two should do it as well. The fans would love it."

"No way," Damian said flatly. "I'm not doing any interview. The gang could use it to track me down and do me in."

"How?" Paloma demanded. "Damian, think about it—this is Fantasy Island! Mr. Roarke controls all access to this place, and he's a master at maintaining people's cover. You yourself said that since you and Howie moved here, no one's bothered you."

Damian's features were shuttered. "Look," he said, "will you drop it if I try to get Howie to see you?"

Paloma blew out an impatient breath and gave up for the moment. "All right, all right. Should I maybe answer a question for him that only we would know the answer to?"

"That might work," Damian said. "Cripes, Paloma, at least sit in one of these chairs, so I don't feel like such a lousy host. Be right back." He left, and Paloma perched on the nearest chair, reflecting to herself that all this über-secrecy was patently ridiculous.

When Damian returned he looked amused. "Okay, here's one. What was the name of Howie's first dog when he was in kindergarten?"

Paloma burst out laughing. "Wow, does that one ever bring back memories! It was Peanut. I still remember how we sat around at that second-season wrap party talking about all our favorite childhood pets."

"Yeah, me too," Damian said, grinning. "Come on back and I'll tell you when to yell the answer at him. To tell you the truth, I think he's just stalling." Paloma rose and trailed Damian into a large room off the right side of the entry hall, in the exact middle of which was a wrought-iron spiral staircase. Damian led her up this and onto the second floor; the staircase opened into a hallway, which contained one door on either side. He gave her a nod and whispered, "Now," pointing at the open door to the back room.

"Howie," Paloma said spiritedly, "your dog's name was Peanut. Am I going to have to confuse you again by telling you about my pets in Spanish, like I did the first time?"

An astonished curse floated out of the room, and Damian and Paloma both burst out laughing. "Get in here, you two brats!" called the voice, which though it clearly belonged to an old man was still strong and clear. "You know better than to tease a man when he's hungry. Damian, where's lunch so we can sit down and eat with this girl?"

Paloma and Damian hurried into the back room, and Paloma nearly dropped her bag with astonishment. Carson Howland Casey sat in a wheelchair next to an enormous triangular floor-to-ceiling window in this room that occupied the back half of the upper floor of one of the A-frame sections of the house, facing a beautiful view of a painstakingly landscaped backyard ringed by a white-brick wall maybe four feet high. Beyond the wall stood lush jungle, from which profusely-blooming plants leaned over the wall and waved in the breeze, as if beckoning viewers to come out and smell the flowers.

But Paloma saw only Casey for the moment. She had expected the wheelchair after what Damian had told her, but she hadn't been prepared for how _old_ he looked. His sparse hair was completely white and his face was quite wrinkled, but his eyes still snapped and sparkled behind a pair of spectacles that to Paloma looked out of place on him. He eyed her and raised bushy white eyebrows. "Well, _chica?"_

His old nickname for her brought her back to her senses and she let the bag fall after all, feeling tears biting the backs of her eyes. "I was afraid you wouldn't see me," she told him, going to him to hug him. "Damian told me so when I came here…"

"Knock it off," Casey said gruffly, but patted her back all the same. "Just what're you doing here in the first place, Paloma? And how did you figure out where to find me?"

"Mr. Roarke helped," said Paloma. "I'm here to do an interview for the DVD of the first season of 'King's Castle', and Mr. Roarke explained to me that you were here—though he didn't mention Damian was here too."

"He didn't know Damian came with me and my staff," Casey said, letting her loose and regarding her. "Sweet saints, _chica_, I didn't know you were still alive—thought maybe something'd gotten you, like Merry and Mase. It's gratifying to see you standing here."

"I'm happy to be here," Paloma said fervently.

Casey smiled slightly, then looked at Damian. "Well, where's lunch?"

Damian laughed. "Let me call down for it," he said, and left the room for a moment. Paloma settled into a chair at the table by the window and stared out.

"What a gorgeous view," she said.

"That's why I bought this place," Casey told her. "It looks like some kid's idea of a grand castle, but I couldn't resist that view. So what's life been doing with you since the boy and I dropped out of sight of the planet?" Before she could reply, Damian returned.

"Lunch is on the way," he said and sat with them at the table. "Tell him about the DVD, Paloma."

"Yeah, what's this about interviews?" Casey asked, scowling. "How come I never heard a word about this DVD anyway? Give me the details."

"The press release came out just a couple of weeks or so ago," Paloma explained. "The first season of 'King's Castle' is going to be released on DVD sometime in the summer—I'd expect in August, so that there's time to add my interview and whatever other extras they might be considering putting on it." She glanced back and forth between Damian and the veteran actor. "Howie, why don't you do one?"

Casey stared at her. "Have you lost your mind, Paloma Esperanza? Look at me! I'm in a wheelchair—legs are useless, hair's gone white, face like a gargoyle. Have mercy on the population, _chica_." Paloma and Damian chuckled. "I don't want anyone seeing me like this. No, no interviews…"

Paloma sighed heavily. "Why am I the only one who's interested in this? Howie, I think you're letting vanity control you…and Damian, you're just giving in to fear."

"She asked you too?" Casey queried of Damian.

Damian nodded. "I told her no. I don't want that gang coming after us."

"I already tried to explain to him that it should be perfectly safe," Paloma protested, looking pleadingly back and forth between them. "Mr. Roarke's the final authority here and carefully controls access to the island. If you don't have his permission to set foot here, then you don't get in—it's as simple as that. You must have had those blue passes that he issues as…as, well, tickets, for lack of a better word."

Damian fidgeted. "What's to stop gang members from going through legalities and getting passes—and then sneaking out here and shooting me down in cold blood?"

"Do you think Mr. Roarke would let gang members on his island?" Paloma countered.

"How do you know he'd recognize them as gang members?" Damian retorted.

Paloma started to answer and then snapped her mouth shut in consternation. Casey, who had been watching their argument with interest, chuckled at her expression. "Come on now, _chica_, if you can't talk him into it, don't keep wasting your breath," he advised.

"Well, you have even less of an excuse," Paloma flared up. "Do you really think your appearance would scare people? Howie, everyone changes over the years, and people know that. You can't live in the past forever. And besides, I know one person you wouldn't disappoint if you did an interview. Mr. Roarke's daughter, Leslie, is a big fan—she said she grew up watching us. She's really excited about the DVD."

Casey blinked and squinted at her over his spectacles. "Well, that's something I never knew. I knew Roarke had a daughter, but not that she was a fan."

"Me either," Damian said, exchanging a look with Casey. Before they could make any further comment, lunch arrived, and for a while the threesome let the topic rest so they could assuage their hunger. Then Damian sat back in his chair and let his gaze fall out of focus, clearly thinking hard about something.

"What's got into you?" Casey asked him.

Damian looked up. "Oh, well…I was just considering what Paloma said, about Roarke's daughter being a fan. What'd you say her name was?"

"Leslie," Paloma told him. "Actually, she drove me over here—she and her husband live in this same development, not very far away at all."

"And she never dropped in on us?" Casey grunted facetiously.

Paloma snorted, "She didn't know you were here—Mr. Roarke never told her. I think she'd love to meet you both, and I tell you, Howie, she wouldn't be disappointed. For that matter, I'd bet her husband wouldn't either. She said he used to watch the show too."

"Hey, hold it a minute," Damian interrupted in disbelief. "Are you saying this prince from some little Scandinavian country watched 'King's Castle'? Why the hell would royalty bother with a little show like ours?"

"Maybe he liked the title," Paloma said, eyeing him.

Casey let out an unexpected laugh that obviously caught Damian as much by surprise as it did Paloma. "Considering what you've been trying to tell us, _chica_, and in light of your insistence that both Roarke's daughter and her prince were fans of the show, maybe we should have her come over here and ask her if she thinks this island is safe enough for us to go ahead and do the interviews for that DVD."

"Howie…" Damian began, his brows drawing fiercely together.

"I said, _if_ she thinks it's safe," Casey quantified with a quelling look at him. "Finish your lunch, Mullawney. Paloma, _chica_, you've got yourself a call to make."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- March 6, 2004

"So, then, two of them are still alive," Christian remarked with interest, refilling his glass with mango juice. "I hadn't thought any of the actors remained, since two of them died and the others disappeared." He swallowed a few gulps of juice, thinking for a moment. "Do you know anything about the man in the title role? I sensed even during the series' run that he was late in his career, but I don't know what he did."

Roarke smiled faintly. "Carson Howland Casey was an actor of some small renown in the late 40s and throughout the 50s," he said. "For a time he enjoyed modest success in Hollywood through a long string of films. I seem to remember that for a few years, Leslie was obsessed with collecting his vintage movies on videotape."

Leslie giggled. "There were a lot of occasions when one or another station was playing one of his movies late at night, and you told me I needed my sleep because of either school or whatever minor duties I was running for you during the weekends." She grinned at Christian, who was listening with amused curiosity. "If Father told me I couldn't stay up to tape one of the movies, Tattoo would sidle over a little later on and tell me he'd do it for me if I'd give him the tape I intended to use. I got a lot of Carson Howland Casey's old movies that way."

Christian laughed and said, "Very sneaky indeed! So how did he end up doing a television series, if he was a film actor?"

"He suffered the same fate that a great many lesser-known actors of those days did," Roarke told him. "When television came into its own, the movie studios found themselves with stiff competition and were forced to terminate the contracts of many actors. Carson Howland Casey was in the same situation. He could see the direction in which things were moving, and decided to get in on the proverbial ground floor. Throughout the 1960s and early 70s he made myriad guest appearances on a wide range of television programs, and then in early 1977 he received the offer of the role of Abernathy King on 'King's Castle'. It turned out to be his final role; the series lasted a total of eight seasons, and after its cancellation he went into seclusion. After a reporter invaded his privacy and made his location public, he sold his home and bought a mansion in the Enclave here on the island. That was just less than twelve years ago."

Christian blinked. _"Herregud!_ You mean he's been here all this time and we never knew? Mr. Roarke, there are recluses, and then there are recluses…"

"He might be a shut-in," Leslie reflected. "Paloma Esperanza said he has some sort of disability, but she didn't know what it is."

Christian nodded and murmured, "I see. Do you truly suppose she was allowed in to see him, then, my Rose? If he's been in such determined hiding for so many years, I should think she was lucky even to see whatever servants he may have there." He caught Roarke's look and grinned. "He must have servants, Mr. Roarke. Disabled or not, if he could afford a place in the Enclave, he can afford staff."

Roarke laughed and said, "So he does."

"So which house is he in?" Christian asked.

Leslie said, "Get this, my love—he lives next door to Gregory Nordeman's place, in that funny A-frame-and-castle-turret combination."

"Saints preserve us," Christian said and laughed again. "Well, this is an interesting turn of events, to be sure. Not to change the subject, but how are those triplets of ours doing? Have they been bothering you?"

"Not since I dropped Paloma off at that mansion this morning," Leslie said, smoothing her hand over her belly. "I guess they gave up and went to sleep. Maybe now I can eat without one of those little runts trying to kick it back up the way it came."

Roarke chuckled, but Christian sat up in alarm. "Has that happened?"

"No, silly," Leslie assured him, laughing. "It just feels like they're trying to. Christian, my love, you're getting worse the closer we get to my giving birth. Please, calm down! We'll all survive this business, all five of us…me, the triplets, and maybe even you."

"I'm not convinced," Christian admitted. "I know there are risks in a multiple pregnancy that the mother of one child wouldn't have to worry about, and since Dr. Hannaford is planning that you'll be thirty-nine before those babies are born, that just raises the risk factor. She said you'll have to have a Caesarian section, didn't she? I had hoped we could avoid that."

"I did too," said Leslie. "I asked her if we couldn't try to get at least one out the usual way, and she hemmed and hawed about it for a minute, and told me I'd better not count on it. She said if it had been twins, I'd have had a chance, but not with triplets."

Christian snorted. "I'd like to know how mothers of triplets and even more gave birth before there were such things as Caesarian sections. It's quite interesting how doctors so often feel that they have the solution to everything. I may bring it up at the next appointment." He sat back in his chair, savoring a bite of succulent roast beef.

Roarke shook his head and remarked, "To tell you the truth, Christian, I find myself greatly anticipating the day Leslie goes into labor, so that we can put all this behind us and you can focus your energy on something other than wondering whether Leslie will perish of pregnancy and thinking up intrusive questions to ask her doctor." Christian blinked at him in amazement, and he suggested kindly, "Try to relax, Christian. Leslie is under the best medical care we can get. The business I am in demands it, what with the hundreds of guests who come and go on this island every week. If you have so little faith in the medical facility here, then I daresay none other on the planet will satisfy you."

Christian slowly leaned forward in his chair, rested an elbow on the table and his forehead in his hand, and began to chuckle, softly at first, then more heartily, till within a minute he was laughing and shaking his head at the same time. "Mr. Roarke, I think perhaps you may have cured me of some of my complaints at least. During Amalia's pregnancy with Gerhard, Carl Johan spent more than a month visiting hospitals all over Lilla Jordsö, trying to decide which one he was willing to trust her and her pregnancy to. And wouldn't you know," he said, looking up at Roarke and still laughing at himself, "Amalia finally grew weary of his carping about every hospital in the country and told him that last sentence you just told me—and quite nearly in the same words!"

"And did Carl Johan listen to her?" Leslie inquired tartly, though she was grinning.

Christian looked up and chortled, "Fortunately, yes, he did! It seems to me, my Rose, that I've just been handed a message. I can't promise that I'll stop questioning Dr. Hannaford, but I vow to you that I won't argue with her."

Leslie said through a laugh, "Well, that'll be a relief! Just for that, I might let you meet Paloma and Mr. Casey after all."

"Generous of you," Christian shot back, his laughter mingling with hers.

"If you two are quite finished," said an amused Roarke, "perhaps we'll conclude our lunch and get on with our respective business. Christian, I'm gratified to find that you've chosen to have faith after all. Now if you can just maintain that attitude until Leslie gives birth, we will all be grateful." He arose amid their renewed laughter, excused himself and retreated into the house, chuckling softly along the way.

Christian fell back in his chair and shook his head again. "I suppose I've been quite the trial across these last months," he mused. "All I can say, my darling, is that I'm sorry, but I simply can't help fearing for you and those babies. Also that I hope we never go through this again. You might survive a second pregnancy, but I doubt I would."

Leslie reached out and wrapped her hand around his, snickering. "I think three children will be all we need," she assured him. "I admit it was more than even I had bargained for, but trust me, three's enough."

"I was of the same mind," Christian remarked. "Now that we've agreed on that, why don't we finish our lunch."

They were eating and Christian was telling Leslie an anecdote from work that morning when Roarke came back out. "I have some news for you," he said, and when Leslie looked up he continued, "Miss Esperanza just telephoned from Carson Howland Casey's residence. It appears that not only was she able to get in to see him, she was admitted by a certain Damian Mullawney."

Leslie gasped. "Damian Mullawney! But a lot of people have assumed he died!"

"He hasn't," Roarke said dryly, "at least according to Miss Esperanza. In any case, she has been attempting to persuade both Mr. Mullawney and Mr. Casey to agree to interviews for the DVD. They have been demurring, but she tells me they will seriously consider it if you will come out to Mr. Casey's mansion in the morning and speak with them. They are not convinced they will be safe from whatever they believe was hunting Mr. Mullawney."

" 'Hunting' him?" Christian echoed, one eyebrow popping up.

"You may be aware," Roarke told him, "that Mason Chen was murdered by a gang, as far as could be ascertained—and that his killers were never apprehended. I questioned Miss Esperanza, and she informed me that Mr. Mullawney explained that the same gang that allegedly killed Mason Chen targeted him next. When Mr. Casey moved here to Fantasy Island, Mr. Mullawney came with him and has been in seclusion ever since then—more so even than Mr. Casey, for somehow the young man was smuggled in without my knowledge."

Leslie shook her head. "And if _you_ didn't know he was here, Father, then nobody on earth knew. That's amazing. Well, I'd be more than glad to go over there in the morning. Did Paloma mention anything about coming back here?"

"She has been invited to remain at the Casey mansion overnight," Roarke told her, "so you need not worry about bringing her back today. I suggest that you go home with Christian this evening and then pay your visit at the Casey mansion about ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Since Christian will have your car, you can notify me when you are ready to come in tomorrow, and I'll send a car out for you."

"That's fine," Leslie agreed. "I just hope I can talk them into it…in fact, I hope I can talk at all, considering who I'm talking to." She smiled sheepishly, and Christian and Roarke both laughed.

§ § § -- March 7, 2004

Leslie was awake by six, enduring the proddings of various babies and trying to distract herself from the discomfort by thinking ahead to her meeting with three actors she had admired for years. Unconsciously she drummed her fingers atop the mound her pregnant stomach created under the covers, till after some time she heard Christian murmur sleepily, "Don't you think those finger movements might be agitating the babies?"

Leslie rolled her head on the pillow till she was looking at him; his eyes blinked open at her movement and squinted blearily at her, and she smiled. "I didn't realize I was even doing it," she admitted. "Maybe you're right…but how could you tell they're moving?"

"They usually move when you're lying still, don't they?" he countered, quirking a drowsy return smile. She grinned, and with a chuckle he asked, "What are you doing awake so early? You don't have to be at Carson Howland Casey's mansion till ten."

"I know, but it's the excitement of getting to meet them," Leslie said. "I've had butterflies ever since last night." Before she could say any more, the phone rang, making Christian start and Leslie blink in disbelief. "Good grief, who could that be?"

"I'll deal with it," Christian muttered and rolled out of bed, just grabbing the library extension before the answering machine would have taken over. "Hello? _Herregud, Kattersprinsessan,_ do you know what time it is? … Oh!" Then he began to laugh. "Yes, I suppose that would be a very good excuse for a phone call this early! No, why don't you and Mateo wait till about eight? By then Leslie and I will be awake and maybe finished with breakfast, and it will be a more civilized hour. All right, we'll see you then." He hung up and returned to the bedroom, where Leslie had sat up in bed. "Mateo and Anna-Kristina finally got their little girl, and they've just gotten home from their trip to Beijing to pick her up. She's eleven months old, Anna-Kristina tells me, and her name will be Natalia Rebecka Apana."

"How pretty!" Leslie said with appreciation. "They must be beside themselves."

"They are," Christian said, chuckling, "or at least Anna-Kristina is. Mateo, I'm sure, is happy in his own quiet way. Anyhow, they're going to bring my newest great-niece here to meet us this morning before I go to work and drop you off at the Casey mansion, so we may as well get up now while there's plenty of time and have a nice leisurely breakfast."

Leslie was just loading the dishwasher a few minutes after eight when Mateo and Anna-Kristina arrived with their new daughter. Christian, who had bought a digital camera just the previous month and had been experimenting with it, had it at the ready when they came in. Mateo groaned quietly, but Anna-Kristina laughed. "Of course Uncle Christian needs a photo to update our page on the royal website!" she said happily. "It's lucky I dressed Natalia in the new dress I got her just before we flew to China."

Leslie forgot the dishwasher and lit up at sight of the baby. "She's beautiful, Anna-Kristina!" she exclaimed. Little Natalia gazed back at her with bright, solemn eyes, so dark brown they were almost black, regarding Leslie with a sober, assessing stare. "What a little sweetie! How was she when you and Mateo picked her up?"

"Shy at first," Mateo said, taking Natalia's hand and gently shaking it, making her smile at him. "We were there for a week, so she had time to get used to us and we to her. I think it's going to work out well. Anna-Kristina played with her for the first three days, and she loved it, so now they have a special bond."

"A good move," Christian agreed, experimentally framing Anna-Kristina and Natalia in the viewscreen on the back of the camera. He looked up with a teasing grin. "Haven't you played with her yet, Mateo? She's your daughter too, you know."

They all laughed and Mateo nodded. "I bounce her on my knee, things like that. Well, if you're really serious and you have to get a picture for the royal website, then go ahead and do it now, so we can get it over with. Anna-Kristina said you have some sort of appointment or something, I think."

"I do, yes," Leslie said, nodding. "Christian's dropping me off on his way to work. Who brought you two over here?"

"One of Mr. Roarke's drivers," Mateo said, "a longtime friend of mine. Anna-Kristina sweet-talked him into it, and when he saw Natalia he just couldn't resist." They laughed again, and Christian led them into the living room and settled the Apanas on the sofa, taking care to backdrop them with plain wall so as not to detract from the main focus of the photo. Leslie finished loading the dishwasher while he got three or four shots; then she came out and joined them.

"Would you like to hold her for a moment, Aunt Leslie?" Anna-Kristina invited.

"I might still have room on my lap," Leslie said, grinning, and the princess giggled and settled Natalia on Leslie's lap. "Christian, my love, did you get Natalia to smile?"

"I did it for him," Anna-Kristina said and playfully waggled her fingers at Natalia, who beamed and kicked a little on Leslie's knees. "I think the photo will come out beautifully. Oh yes…Uncle Christian, did you know that Briella's finally made formal introduction to parliament of a motion to invalidate the law that strips a royal of the title if he or she takes up residence outside Lilla Jordsö? I might be able to keep my title, and you could get yours back."

"Hmm," Christian said, raising an eyebrow. "I presume she did that because there's been so much squabbling about your move for relinquishment."

Anna-Kristina nodded. "She told me that she added something significant, though. If the repeal goes through, there will be a proviso that makes it optional for the spouse of the royal to take the title that comes with marriage into royalty." She saw Leslie's surprised look and said, "What that means, of course, is that if the law goes through and Uncle Christian gets his title back, you can accept the title of princess if you like, or just remain plain Leslie Enstad. It's your choice, and it will be Mateo's choice as well."

Mateo snorted and said, "I'm sure you know what my decision would be." They laughed again, and even Natalia giggled on Leslie's lap.

Her movement prompted Christian to remark, "I wonder what status Natalia will have. You still have your title, Anna-Kristina, and normally that would automatically make Natalia a princess. I think I'll have to have Briella or Anna-Laura look into that." He reached over and playfully grasped Natalia's bare foot, swiping one finger back and forth along the sole and making the child squeal with delight. "Think of that, Princess Natalia! Wait till you're older and you find that your mother's family is royalty! Everyone in Lilla Jordsö will fall in love with her, Anna-Kristina. She truly is a beautiful child."

"And she's been such an angel too," Anna-Kristina said, smiling at her new daughter. "She'll be so wonderful to have. Mateo and I are hoping we can provide brothers and sisters for her in two or three years. For now, she's a dream come true all by herself."

Half an hour later the Apanas had departed and Christian had retreated upstairs to do a quick update of the royal website; he had maintained the site for so long now that making any changes was second nature to him. But Leslie still enjoyed watching him download the shots he had taken of Mateo, Anna-Kristina and Natalia, choose the one he liked the best, then bring up the master page and add the photo and a quick few lines of text. He was finished in less than fifteen minutes and uploaded the new page to the site, then inspected it online and nodded in satisfaction. "It looks great," Leslie commented. "That one was my favorite shot too."

Christian grinned at her over his shoulder. "Ah, but just wait till ours have come. I wonder who will take the official first family portrait?"

"I expect we'll have no shortage of volunteers," Leslie remarked, and he laughed. "By the way…I had an e-mail from Margareta. She said she's clearing her schedule for the summer so she can come to stay with us and help with the triplets."

Christian's gaze went astonished. "Margareta? The bachelorette who had no real interest in producing offspring and was so nonchalant when she learned she couldn't have her own anyway? She actually wants to come here and assist with the babies?"

"She sure does," Leslie said, grinning back. "Just because she isn't interested in having her own children doesn't mean she doesn't like other people's kids."

"I have to concede that," Christian agreed, chuckling. "She'll be welcome, and I'm sure she'll also be happy to meet her brand-new niece. Well, I see it's a bit past nine. Why don't we complete whatever housework needs doing, and then we'll go. I have four interviews scheduled for today, and it's my hope I can finally hire the additional specialist I want to get on staff before our workload gets even worse than it is now."

Just before ten, Leslie stood on the stoop of the strange "Tudor castle" mansion and pressed the doorbell she'd watched Paloma ring the previous day. She glanced behind her, watching the car with Christian at the wheel turn out of the long looping driveway and onto the Enclave's access road, and then heard something that made her turn back around, only to spot a wary dark eye regarding her through the small square door. "It's me, Leslie Enstad, Mr. Roarke's daughter," she said.

The little door closed and the main one immediately opened to reveal Damian Mullawney, who though he was more than a decade older than Leslie remembered him from the TV series was instantly recognizable to her. He was grinning. "I hear you're a fan!"

"I am," Leslie agreed a little sheepishly, grinning back at him. "I brought my autograph book too. You know, it's so great to know you're among the living."

"I kinda like being there myself," Damian said dryly, and she laughed; he chuckled and stepped back. "Come on in, Mrs. Enstad."

"Call me Leslie," she urged, entering the house.

"Thanks, Leslie, then just call me Damian," the actor replied, closing the door. "Follow me, and I'll introduce you to Howie." Damian preceded her into the room at the right of the entry and up the staircase, then ushered her in ahead of him. Paloma and Carson Howland Casey both looked around at her entrance.

"Well," said Casey, surveying her, "so you're Mr. Roarke's girl. Looks to me like you'll be making him a grandpa before too much longer."

"Triplets," Leslie said, making the man's eyes go wide and eliciting a laugh from her at the look. "That was my reaction when I first heard…and my husband's too, for that matter. How are you doing, Mr. Casey?"

Casey shrugged and made a cursory gesture at a nearby chair, which Leslie settled into with some care. "Could be better, although with Paloma here, my spirits have gone up a bit. Now, young lady, why don't you get out the autograph book you undoubtedly brought with you, and we'll get the John Hancocks out of the way…and then you can try to persuade me that it's safe enough for Damian and me to do interviews for that DVD."

Leslie had her autographs in a few minutes and examined them briefly with a broad grin before closing the book and stashing it back in her purse. "So you need persuading to do interviews for that DVD?" she prompted.

Damian just looked wary, so Casey stepped in. "Tell you what, young lady," he said, eyeing Leslie narrowly, "why don't you tell us how your life is with that prince of yours, on this little piece of tropicana. Do you get autograph hounds? People asking stupid questions? Folks looking to see where you live? Idiots asking you for money because they know you're well off, and that royalty is rich anyway? Maniacs threatening your lives?"

Leslie regarded him with wide eyes, holding her silence for a moment so she could think. There had been times when Christian had been asked by the odd customer at his office for his autograph, though she herself had yet to be bothered in that way. Finally she smiled and said, "Well, Christian and I get our share of stupid questions; but Christian's had only a few autograph hounds, and I never have. As for requests for money, or threats on our lives, nothing of the sort." She let the smile drop and focused bravely on Casey, even though as one of her longtime idols, he and that penetrating stare of his bid fair to reduce her to a mass of brainless jelly. "You yourself should be perfectly aware that as a refuge, no other place on Earth can match Fantasy Island."

Paloma hooted gleefully, "She's got you there, Howie. You can't tell me that even once in all the time you and Damian have been here, someone's pounded on your door demanding your autograph…let alone your money or your life."

Carson Howland Casey gave her a dirty look, then focused on Leslie, this time with a modicum of respect in his look. "Okay, young lady, and how do you suppose that's possible?"

"You don't know?" Leslie queried playfully, taking a cue from Paloma. "If you didn't have any idea that this island is ideal as a refuge for those who most desperately need one, you never would have come to Father seeking sanctuary." She grinned at the startled look on Casey. "Listen, Mr. Casey, I've watched 'King's Castle' since it started, since it ended, since the reruns have been aired erratically on one TV station or another; and I've been a fan of yours pretty much from day one. But I've lived on Fantasy Island for a pretty darn long time, too. And if I'm Mr. Roarke's daughter, I wouldn't be worth much if I weren't aware of the workings of his business—particularly since I'm also his assistant. So I won't let you intimidate me into a quivering, blithering moron who's bug-eyed in the presence of one of her favorite TV stars. And anyway, if I did, you'd probably throw me out and tell Father he has one heck of a fluff-headed dingbat for a daughter."

Paloma slapped her hand over her mouth; Casey stared at Leslie; and Damian began to roar with laughter. "I like you," Damian chortled, reaching over and slapping Leslie's shoulder. "I like the heck out of you, even if it makes your prince jealous. You're good people, Leslie. You know something, I'm gonna do it. Why not?"

Casey rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. "Damian's got more reason to be afraid than I do, and if he's gonna do it, then it'd make me some damn coward if I didn't. I suppose you've talked us into it, young lady."

Leslie and Paloma looked at each other and grinned widely, then traded high-fives while Damian laughed and Casey looked on, shaking his head but with his eyes twinkling. "It'll be a terrific drawing point for all the 'King's Castle' fans still out there," Paloma said, "and I know they're there. I'll show you the phone, Leslie, so you can call Mr. Roarke and we can give him the go-ahead for the recording crew to come out and do all this."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- March 7, 2004

Around the same time, in the town square, Christian was working on new pages to be added to an existing website for one of his longtime _jordiska_ clients when a man with a thatch of unruly honey-blond hair, a long thin face and overly large eyes came into the shop, lugging a computer tower. "Say," he said, "can anybody get this thing running again for me?"

"That would be Boss Prince there," said Jonathan, gesturing towards Christian. "He's the genius who resurrects dead computers in this place. We just sit around basking in the glorious light he throws off."

"Oh, shut up," Christian said good-naturedly, while Julianne rolled her eyes and Anton and Mateo chuckled. "What precisely is the problem, then?"

The man peered at him and his eyebrows shot up under the thicket of hair that flopped down over his forehead. "Oh man, whaddaya know…so you're Prince Christian. You actually come in here in the flesh and work? I'd'a thought you'd work from home all the time." At Christian's odd look, he elaborated, "You know, to avoid all the crowds."

"No one bothers me, really," Christian said, shrugging, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. "Anyhow, I like doing my own work as much as possible. So, as I said, what's the problem?"

Grunting, the man set the tower on the work arm of Christian's desk. "It doesn't respond to the power button—I push the hell out of it and nothing happens." He gave Christian a slightly frantic look. "I need this back by the end of the day. There're some really important files on it that I gotta have."

Christian frowned. "I can't promise that," he warned. "I have at least two other very urgent projects that have to take priority."

"I'll pay extra," the man insisted. "I need it. Bad."

Christian sighed very softly, sat back in his chair and looked over the page he had up at the moment, just for a couple of seconds. "Well," he said finally, "I'll do what I can. Why don't you give me your name and phone number, so that I can contact you later, and then I'll see if I can rearrange things a little."

"That'd be great," the man said. "Jake Yerby's the name. I'm at the hotel—room 507."

Christian made a couple of notations on a Post-it pad, pulled off the top sheet and stuck it to the side of Yerby's tower. "All right, Mr. Yerby. I may not be able to get this one running again; if not, you have the option of my transferring it to another tower."

"Great, fine," Yerby said, looking unduly relieved. "If you have to do that, go ahead. I really appreciate it, Your Highness." He nodded at the others and left hastily.

Julianne watched him go. "Strange guy," she remarked.

"Rather," Christian murmured, peering at the tower, then at the site page he had been working on. "Well, all right. Anton, can you take the Kipala tower and make the repairs on that? I'm going to finish this website project and then tackle Yerby's tower. My guess is that I'll have to transfer everything to a new one, which is going to really cut into the afternoon's planned schedule, but I suppose it can't be helped."

"Lucky you did all the interviews this morning, Boss Prince," said Jonathan. "Have you figured out yet who you're hiring?"

"I think so," said Christian, "and it's more and more tempting to call her in and ask her to begin right away."

"Oh cool, another girl, finally!" Julianne exclaimed gleefully. "Now I won't have to be the token female anymore."

Christian noted dryly, "Julianne, believe me, you're anything but 'token' around here. Thank you, Anton…" Anton had come over to lift another computer tower off the work arm. "Thank fate there's enough room for another desk in here. Well, back to work."

‡ ‡ ‡

At one o'clock the camera crew and interviewer arrived at the Casey mansion, having been sent by Roarke after Leslie's call, and with them came a driver for Leslie. Paloma and Damian saw her out, and she waved to them before somewhat laboriously settling herself into the front seat of the rover. The crew lugged a camera, lighting equipment, cables and sound paraphernalia of all sorts up to the room where Carson Howland Casey sat, making several trips altogether, and a makeup girl got to work on Paloma while they were setting up for the interviews. "It's almost like being back on the show again," Paloma said.

"Yeah, sure brings back memories," Damian murmured, surveying the now-crowded room. "You're not backing out, are you, Howie?"

"I made my promise, Mullawney, and I'm keeping it," Casey informed him gruffly.

"Okay, just checking," Damian said, grinning. "So who's the interviewer?"

"That's me," said a male voice, and Casey and Damian focused on a popeyed guy with a broomstick patch of honey-colored hair and a skinny face with somewhat saturnine features. "Just call me Jake…nice to meet you." He shook hands with Casey and Damian. "Nice to meet you too, Miss Esperanza." Paloma waved at him.

A few minutes later Paloma traded seats with Damian, and the camera and lighting crew continued setting up. Someone dragged an easy chair from a corner into the middle of the room and began experimenting with shining lights on it. Yerby chatted a little with Casey, who regarded him with the jaundiced eye he'd given Leslie earlier that morning. All was going well, and Paloma and Damian exchanged thumbs-up.

An hour later they had begun taping the interview with Paloma, who reveled happily in relating her memories of being on "King's Castle". Damian and Casey watched, and now and then everyone would chuckle at some memory Paloma shared. It was going well, and the two men looked at each other. Maybe Paloma had been right: they'd been in seclusion far too long.

‡ ‡ ‡

Christian had worked through lunch in an attempt to get caught up, so Leslie came over with a covered plate for him a little past one-thirty. "You're a lifesaver, my Rose," he said with a warm smile when she took the chair that sat on the other side of the work arm of his desk. "What was on Mariki's menu today?"

"Roast leg of lamb, pearl onions with peas, garlic mashed potatoes and honey-glazed carrot coins," Leslie recited, playfully rubbing her stomach. "Great stuff. Oh yes, and there was chocolate mousse for dessert."

"That's too tempting for me," Christian said, chuckling, pushing his keyboard back to make room for the plate. "Unfortunately I have to keep working even while I eat."

"You're that busy, my love?" Leslie asked, astonished.

Christian nodded and uncovered the plate. "It's a madhouse in here. And worse, I have a rush project whose owner wants it by the end of the day."

"Good grief," she said. "Well, maybe I should go and leave you to it."

"No, that you don't need to do," he said and grinned. "Keep me company—Anton and Mateo are both busy on projects as well, and Julianne had to go on a call. I've been hoping I can find time to call one of the prospects I interviewed this morning so I can let her know I've decided to hire her. As I told Julianne, it's tempting to have her start today."

Leslie laughed and relaxed in her seat. "Might as well. Father's making a routine check on a fantasy, and I don't have anything pressing going on." She watched Christian take a bite of mashed potatoes, then turn to a computer tower and plug it into a spare power strip under the work arm before attempting to turn it on. "Dead machine, huh?"

"Seems so," murmured Christian, swallowing. "Hmm, that man was right. This thing seems to be beyond all hope. Would you connect that spare monitor at the end of the arm there, my darling? Thank you." He indulged in a few more bites while Leslie deftly made the connections, since she was facing the backs of both units; then he turned on the monitor and tried one more time to boot up the machine. Nothing happened and he shook his head. "I guess I'll have to take it apart and see what's wrong. Go ahead and disconnect the monitor for me." Again he took the chance to eat a little more.

Leslie glanced teasingly at him around the tower. "Do I get paid for this?" His reply was a raised eyebrow, and she laughed, loosening the connector and laying the monitor cord across the desk. Christian removed a screwdriver from the mug full of pens and pencils and began to loosen screws on the tower. "Maybe it's just old," Leslie offered.

"Possible," Christian agreed a little absently, carefully setting screws aside where he could get to them easily. "It looks rather battered, but that doesn't necessarily mean old age." He took yet another bite before removing the last fastening screw. "Mmm…Mariki outdid herself today. This is delicious."

"I know," Leslie said a little sheepishly. "I had two plates totally full of everything."

Christian burst out laughing and teased, "You're really quite the glutton these days, my Rose! We're going to have three very fat babies at this rate."

"And they're going to have one very fat mother," Leslie observed ruefully, looking down at herself. "Dr. Hannaford says if I nurse, I'll lose a lot of it, and fairly quickly too. But right now, I'm Mariki's dream come true. At least she's long since quit telling me I'm too skinny. It's kind of a relief."

Christian set aside the tower housing and began to inspect the interior. "To tell you the truth, I'm waiting for the day she begins to complain that you're too fat. It would be just like her—she seems to thrive when she has something to nag someone about." Leslie let out a giggle, and he grinned, reaching for a can of air and blowing dust out of the tower. "How did you find your favorite actors this morning, then?"

"Damian Mullawney was welcoming enough once I identified myself," she said, "although Carson Howland Casey was kind of suspicious. But I managed to overcome my initial awe while they were signing my autograph book, and it gave me enough courage to talk them both into doing the interviews for the DVD. Paloma asked me to come back about two-thirty or so and pick her up to go back to her bungalow."

"Ah," said Christian. Then his eyes widened and he shook his head. "Well, that's that. This thing is pretty much fried. The whole starter mechanism is shot." He sat back and pushed off in his chair to make it swivel around till he faced Mateo. "Mateo, do me a favor and bring another tower out of the back room, would you? I'm going to have to perform a complete installation job on this thing. I was afraid this would happen."

"Coming right up," Mateo said and went back to the storeroom. Christian used the few moments to make some more progress on his lunch, and he and Leslie talked a little in the interim; a few minutes later Christian was opening the new tower and then carefully removing hard drives from the old machine.

"That looks like four hard drives," Leslie said in disbelief. "No wonder the computer died. It had too much to remember."

Christian snickered at that. "I expect it saw quite a lot of use," he agreed. "Four hard drives in one machine is definitely unusual. I wonder why that man doesn't get a laptop and just transfer some files to that." He finished the excavation, removed the old tower and lifted the new one onto the desk, starting the somewhat more delicate job of installing the items he had just removed and occasionally forking in another bite of lunch. Leslie watched, humming softly to herself.

‡ ‡ ‡

"Thanks, Miss Esperanza," said Jake Yerby as Paloma got out of the easy chair. "That was great…loads of terrific stuff. Okay, Mr. Mullawney, you're next." Damian took Paloma's place in the easy chair and made himself comfortable while the lights were adjusted and the makeup girl touched up what little she had done with Damian's face. Paloma settled down near Casey, and Yerby prepared a script.

"I see they haven't improved the efficiency of taping anything since the end of 'King's Castle'," remarked Casey in the crotchety manner that Paloma had learned was normal for him nowadays. The previous evening she had shared a late dinner and some wine with Damian, and they had swapped updates about their lives before talking about Casey and the changes in him since the end of the TV series. Paloma wondered if he would come across this way during his interview as well.

"Okay, roll 'em," said Yerby, and the cameraman activated his camera. Damian waited expectantly, and Yerby obliged him with, "How do you remember your initial auditions for 'King's Castle' and the role of Harry?"

Casey scowled and Paloma eyed him oddly. She tapped his arm, and when he looked at her, she made a questioning face at him. He jabbed a thumb in Yerby's direction and rolled his eyes, which could have meant any one of three dozen things as far as Paloma was concerned. Grabbing a note pad that lay on the nearby desk, Casey scrawled something on it and showed it to Paloma: _Is he the best they could do? He's using the same script he did with you, and I guess he'll use it on me too._

Paloma shrugged and smiled, and Casey rolled his eyes again and quietly put the pad and pencil on the desk. They relaxed and tried to concentrate on Damian's answers, rather than Yerby's repetitive questions.

‡ ‡ ‡

Christian had kissed Leslie goodbye some ten minutes before, watching her leave with his empty plate, and then gone back to work; he was just installing the final hard drive. Leslie had said she was going to drop off the plate with Mariki at the main house, check in with Roarke if he was there, and then go straight to the Enclave to get Paloma. Idly Christian wondered if Leslie meant for him to meet the actors as well; he wasn't quite as devoted a fan as Leslie was, but he had enjoyed watching the series years ago in Lilla Jordsö.

It was almost two-thirty now, and he sighed with quiet resignation at the complete skewing of his day. Just before Leslie had left, he had called his newest hire to tell her she now had a job, and had given in to his impulse and asked her to come in for the rest of the afternoon so they could try to make some headway on all the waiting projects. Her name was Beth Keoki, a native islander who had graduated from UCLA the previous summer and had been unable to find a job since coming home, till now. To his amusement, it was as if the thought had conjured her up; she walked in just then, and he recognized her from that morning, still clad in the same smart pantsuit she had worn to her interview. "Hello, Your Highness," Beth said and even curtsied, giving Christian another reason to grin.

"Oh, none of that," he said lightly. "Just call me Mr. Enstad if you like. You should have changed into jeans…we're generally informal in here."

"Not you," Jonathan said and smirked. "You always wear a business shirt and slacks in here. How come we never see you in jeans?"

"I've always worn this sort of clothing to work," Christian said. "It's a habit. That doesn't mean I expect my employees to do the same. Just go ahead and make yourself at home at that desk, Beth, and let me know when you've settled down. I'll give you a couple of repair projects to get you started."

"Sounds terrific, Mr. Enstad," Beth said cheerfully. "It won't take me long. Hi, everybody, it's nice to see you again."

"Hi, Beth," Julianne said immediately. "I'm so glad Boss Prince hired you. I'm finally not the only female in this place."

"Boss Prince?" Beth repeated in surprise.

Christian rolled his eyes while Jonathan and Julianne laughed and explained the nickname. Beth giggled and took her seat, and Christian looked over the waiting repair projects before choosing three and lining them up on the work arm of her desk. "That should get you started," he said. "Welcome, Beth, and thank you for coming in. I'll have you fill out the necessary forms after closing—there's no time right now." He turned his attention back to his installation project, hearing Julianne's and Beth's voices as background noise while he worked, a tiny piece of his mind on Leslie, as usual.

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie stopped the jeep in front of the mansion and slipped out. Paloma had said to just go on in, so she let herself into the front entry and made her way back to the spiral staircase that led to the second floor. She could hear voices upstairs, first a strange man asking a question, then Damian Mullawney giving his reply. They probably hadn't had time to interview Casey yet, she imagined as she began to climb the stairs. It was her intention, and her hope, to wait in the doorway of the room where the interviews were being conducted and watch while they were happening. Leslie had always loved behind-the-scenes anecdotes, and that these were from her favorite series was a bonus.

She leaned silently against the doorjamb in the room, and Paloma waved at her; she grinned and waved back. Casey nodded and she smiled at him. The interviewer asked one more question, and when Damian was finished answering, he wrapped up. Damian arose and stretched while the interviewer said briskly, "Okay, folks, get it ready for Mr. Casey. Nice camera work, Dick. Lily, go ahead and make up Mr. Casey, and we'll get it going here as quick as we can, so we can get out of everybody's way."

Paloma arose and started to cross the room toward Leslie, but the cameraman turned quickly around. "You can't stay, Miss Esperanza?"

Paloma stopped in surprise, and Leslie offered, "If you want to stay and watch Mr. Casey's interview, it's okay. I'm not due back for anything right away."

"Well…" Paloma shrugged amiably and went back to her seat. "Actually, it'd be fun to hear what Howie still remembers."

"Undoubtedly a ton of stuff we don't," Damian remarked, and they all laughed. Casey gave him a _wouldn't you just love to know?_ look, which brought on more laughter, and they all settled themselves down to listen to the last interview. Damian got up and urged Leslie to take his chair, since she was pregnant, and Leslie smiled gratefully and accepted.

‡ ‡ ‡

Christian finally got the last component installed in the new tower and sighed again; it occurred to him that he'd been doing a lot of that today. He was tired, and there was still over an hour and a half before closing. Leaving the housing off the new tower for the moment, he twisted the unit around till he could reach the back, then quickly hooked up the spare monitor to it and pressed the power button. To his relief, the new machine obligingly began to boot up, and he settled back in his chair, keeping an eye on it in case something else happened during the start-up process. He yawned quietly, listening to Julianne and Jonathan trading their usual quips and including Beth in their banter, and closed his eyes just for a moment to rest them.

When he opened them again, the image on the monitor drew his eye and he sat up in surprise, staring at it. Some program seemed to be running itself without a single prompt from him. This definitely wasn't normal, and he had never experienced this before. Curious, he watched the apparently automated program finish setting itself up; then he leaned forward to minimize the window, afraid of breaching someone's privacy.

Just before his finger hit the proper key combination, he saw a phrase that made him freeze. _Castellum Regalis—Interficere_, the file was called, according to the legend at the very top of the screen. Christian frowned, recognizing the language as Latin but uncertain of the translation. He drummed his fingers on the desk a moment, then gave in to the urge even though he knew he should leave well enough alone and double-clicked the Internet icon on his own computer, bringing up a search engine and asking it for a Latin translation site.

When he got one, he typed in _castellum regalis_, told it to translate, and blinked when the result was "castle king." _Castle king,_ Christian thought, frowning again. _Castle king. What could that mean? Castle king, king castle… _His eyes widened._ "__King's__ Castle." I don't suppose this man is a fan of the show…? But what's that other word?_ This time Christian typed _interficere_ into the translation system—and got back the word "kill."

"_Herregud,"_ he muttered, glancing at the document itself this time and seeing a name he'd already encountered once this weekend, Carson Howland Casey, followed by a couple of paragraphs which Christian started to read and then stopped cold. Breathing a shocked oath in _jordiska_, he quickly minimized the document and then grabbed the phone.

‡ ‡ ‡

Roarke had been back from a few routine rounds for only a couple of minutes when his phone sounded off and he picked it up. "Yes?"

"Mr. Roarke, this is Christian. Is Leslie back yet from the Casey mansion?"

"No, I told her she could take as long as she needed to pick up Miss Esperanza and return here," Roarke replied. "Why?"

He heard Christian clear his throat. "It…well, it's something I dare not reveal over the telephone," he said. "Is it at all possible for you to come here to my office and take a look at it for yourself? I really think you should see this."

"Very well, Christian, I'll be there in just a few moments," Roarke promised and hung up. He didn't waste time leaving the main house and taking a jeep into town, parking in front of Christian's shop and letting himself in.

Christian looked very relieved when he entered. "Thank fate," he said as Roarke gave Christian's employees a quick nod of greeting. "Please, come around this way and tell me what you make of this." As Roarke stepped around behind Christian's desk, the former prince tapped a couple of keys on a keyboard hooked up to an open computer tower, and Roarke saw some sort of electronic document fill the monitor screen. "I was repairing this computer," Christian explained, "and had to transfer four hard drives and some other hardware into a new tower. When I booted up the new machine to be sure it worked, this document came up automatically for some reason. I would have closed it down, but its title caught my eye, and I decided to translate it just out of curiosity."

Roarke peered at the document title. _"Castellum Regalis—Interficere,"_ he said, his dark eyes widening when he spotted Carson Howland Casey's name heading the text. "This is primitive Latin, to begin with, so it's something of a miracle you made the connection you did. If you don't mind, tell me the name of the person who left this machine with you."

"Someone named Jake Yerby," said Christian. "He seemed to be in quite a hurry to get this thing fixed, and asked me to have it ready for him by the end of the day. It seems quite strange to me that he should do such a thing if he knew this document was programmed to run itself without any prompt from the operator."

"Indeed," Roarke murmured, frowning. He read a few lines of the text and stood up straight. "Jake Yerby, did you say?" Christian nodded, and he met the younger man's gaze with an urgent look. "He's the man in charge of the interviews that Miss Esperanza, Mr. Mullawney and Mr. Casey are to tape for that DVD today. I remember receiving his letter requesting charter passes for himself and his crew. Leslie telephoned me earlier this afternoon advising me to send them to Mr. Casey's mansion at one o'clock, as Mr. Mullawney and Mr. Casey had both agreed to do clips for the package."

Christian looked horrified. "And Leslie is there now? Mr. Roarke, she left here about quarter past two to pick up Miss Esperanza—if she went straight there as she told me she would, then she's in as much danger as the actors!"

"Boss Prince, is everything okay?" Jonathan asked.

Roarke and Christian both looked around to find that all the others in the room were watching them with amazement and some concern. "It's something of an emergency," said Christian, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd take over, Mateo. Mr. Roarke and I need to handle this immediately. Whatever you do, don't let anyone take this computer out of here, and don't touch it, please. I'll try to be back as soon as I can." So saying, he hurriedly followed Roarke out of the office, and they strode over to the western side of the square where the police station was located.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- March 7, 2004

The crew had broken down their equipment and was transporting it out; most of them had stopped long enough to thank the three actors for their participation before departing. Only Jake Yerby, the interviewer, and Dick the cameraman remained. "Come on, bud, we gotta get going," Yerby said urgently. "We have to catch the next charter out of here if we can."

"I can handle it," Dick said, barely glancing up at him. "Go on, Jake."

"Do you need transportation back?" Leslie asked, rising along with Paloma. "We're just about to go back to the end of the island ourselves."

Dick whipped around so abruptly that everyone left in the room flinched, and then shocked them by producing a huge gun and pointing it at the two women. "Don't either of you set a foot outside this room," he warned. "Otherwise you'll get shot. For that matter, I'll be shooting you anyway, so you'd better make your peace with yourselves now."

"Dammit, Dick, what the hell is it with you?" Jake Yerby shouted. "Are you so full of hatred and rage you'd even kill a pregnant woman just to get your damn revenge?"

"You know I can't leave any witnesses behind, Jake," Dick said, still aiming his gun at Paloma. "Even if they're pregnant—"

"She's Roarke's daughter, you idiot," Yerby persisted desperately.

"If you don't can it," Dick warned, glancing back at him, "I'll off you too." Yerby subsided, though obviously extremely reluctant to let it lie, and he turned back to Paloma and Leslie. "Sit down, both of you."

"How did you figure out where we were?" Casey demanded.

"Easy enough. _Variety_ let it be known that Paloma Esperanza was traveling to Fantasy Island to do a reminiscence piece for the DVD of the first season of 'King's Castle'. I figured it would be the perfect time to isolate her and do her in. And look what I've got now: a nice fat bonus. She found Carson Howland Casey and Damian Mullawney, and now I can put an end to all of them in one fell swoop. You deserve it, all of you."

"Why?" demanded Casey.

"I shoulda had a part on the show," Dick snarled. "I auditioned back in '76 along with eight hundred other kids, looking to get a role. I was damn good and everybody knew it, but someone had this idea that there needed to be racial equality. So the one white male is old Casey here. Then we have a white female, a Hispanic female, a black male and an Asian male. Nice and rounded and integrated, huh? What a nice, sweet little lesson in harmony. Mason Chen got the role I wanted."

"Impossible," Paloma said, stunned. "Mason's role was written to be Chinese from the beginning—the character's name was Chang, for crying out loud. You don't look even remotely Asian. You didn't stand a chance."

Dick lunged at her with the gun. "Shut up, damn you! I could have gotten that role if those morons had any horse sense about acting talent. Mason Chen couldn't act if his life depended on it, and everybody knew it. I was far better than he was."

"If you were so good, pal, how come we don't remember you?" Damian taunted.

"You should," Dick snapped at him. "I was a child actor under the name Richard Gaines. That ring any bells?"

Leslie, staring on, racked her brain for any recollection of someone with that name, but she came up blank. Paloma and Damian, though, recognized it, from the look they traded. "So why blame us?" Damian wanted to know. "You shot poor Mason years ago, and if you were after his role and had to have your deranged revenge, then that should've been it. So why the vendetta against the rest of us?"

"All of you kids got your parts because you were some sort of minority," Dick said.

"What about Meredith Hansen?" Leslie ventured. "She was white."

"She was female," Dick sneered. "They figured it was okay for there to be one token white kid, but it had to be a girl so nobody could say there were too many white guys on that show. She's damn lucky her leukemia killed her before I could get around to shooting her. But the rest of you need to be killed, and here I am to do it."

"Back off, young man," Casey warned. "You know where you are, don't you? You can't possibly think you can get away with this, here on this island. There's no place to hide."

Dick rolled his eyes. "There's plenty of places to hide, old man. This island is still more than half jungle, and it wouldn't take much for one man to get good and lost in there and evade the authorities for days. Not even Roarke could…"

"Yes he could," Leslie said softly.

Dick swung the gun around at her. "Do you want to be the first to die?"

"Look," Paloma told him, "if you kill Mr. Roarke's daughter, you're going to kill her babies too. And not only will you have Mr. Roarke after you, but you'll have Leslie's husband on your trail too. Neither of them will stop at a thing to make sure you get your just deserts if you murder Leslie along with the rest of us."

"Let her go, man," said Damian impatiently. "She wasn't involved with the show in any way—she was just one of its fans."

Dick trained the gun on him and warned, "Don't try to change my mind. I told you, I can't leave any witnesses behind. You, old man…they gave you the starring role because they felt sorry for that washed-up old actor from the fifties. You'd lost it by then."

"And who are you," Casey demanded haughtily, "that you're such a know-it-all critic? Think you're the last word in cinematic talent, do you? It's too damn bad you're blaming everybody else for your own problems. Hundreds of other hopeful kids lost out on those roles, and none of them went demented and made vows to turn the cast into mincemeat."

"Don't patronize me!!" Dick screamed. "I won't be responsible for what happens if—"

"You most certainly will," said someone from the doorway then, and there stood Roarke. Three policemen were behind him, all with guns drawn. "You'll be held fully responsible for any harm that accrues not only to my daughter, but to anyone else in this room. This is my island, Mr. Gaines, and I am the last word in authority here. If you don't drop that gun immediately, my constabulary will take whatever action they feel is necessary to save these people's lives."

Dick wavered for a moment, and Leslie and the actors held their breaths; then the man finally let his gun fall to the floor, and they all relaxed, trembling in their chairs with adrenaline withdrawal while the cops made short work of cuffing Dick and marching him out of the room and away. Seconds after they departed, Christian wedged his way into the room and went straight to Leslie, who erupted out of her chair and threw her arms around him with sheer relief. "Are you all right, my Rose?" Christian asked urgently.

"Fine, other than a bad scare," she assured him, squeezing him.

"Did you see that file?" Jake Yerby suddenly asked Christian, his voice as urgent as Christian's had been. "That's why I left you that computer." He smiled faintly, looking a trace self-conscious, as Christian, Leslie and Roarke all focused on him while Paloma and Damian checked to see how Casey was. "It was actually Dick's. It quit on him this morning, and I knew there was a computer-repair outfit here, so I told him I'd take it over to your shop to have it fixed. He was distracted at the time and agreed to it. I tried to make out like it was an emergency, so there'd be a better chance that you'd fix it and notice that one file that he'd programmed to kick in right after boot-up."

"Believe me, I did," Christian assured him. "That's what tipped me off that there was going to be trouble here."

"You saved several lives here today, Mr. Yerby," Roarke said appreciatively.

Jake Yerby shrugged. "I was saving my own hide too, as it turned out, so I don't know just how much I should get in the way of accolades. I'm glad nobody got hurt."

"He said he killed Mason Chen," Paloma put in then, having tuned into the conversation along with Damian and Casey. "It was always assumed that a gang did it, but I guess he must have set it up to look like a gang killing."

"He was pretty good at throwing people off the trail," Yerby said with a nod. "I myself didn't know what he had in mind till we got to the island yesterday and I happened to walk up behind Dick in his hotel room while he had his computer on and that file up. I was trying to think of a good way to tip someone off without letting Dick know about it, and then his computer died and I saw my chance."

"Well," Casey said thoughtfully, giving Roarke an impish look, "I guess this means Damian and I can finally break seclusion and go out and bask in the sun for the first time in a decade. I can use a nice suntan." He smirked. "All I have to do is get me and this infernal wheelchair down the stairs, and nobody's gonna stop me." Everyone laughed, and Roarke and Casey shook hands while Leslie introduced Damian and Paloma to Christian.

§ § § -- March 8, 2004

"Well, Miss Esperanza," Roarke said when Paloma alighted from the car on Monday morning and paused in front of him and Leslie, "I hope your weekend wasn't a complete debacle after yesterday's unexpected events."

Paloma grinned and assured him, "Not a bit of it, Mr. Roarke. In fact, I'm already making plans to come back as soon as I can and have a nice, long, relaxing vacation. Not only that, but I'd like to drop in on Leslie if it's okay with her."

Leslie lit up in astonished delight. "You'd be more than welcome!" she exclaimed.

Roarke chuckled and said, "I would have been very much amazed if you had said anything else." They laughed, and Paloma squeezed Leslie's hands and promised to send her one of the first copies of the DVD when it was released later that year.

"I'd love it," Leslie said delightedly, and then out of nowhere happened to remember something. "Oh…listen…there's a question I've had for several years now, and I figured the only way I'd ever get it resolved was to wait for some TV station to start showing the series reruns again. But now that you're here, maybe you can solve the mystery for me. It was a little bit of a sore point between me and Christian."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Paloma said, surprised. "What's the question?"

Leslie quirked a grin and explained, "Christian and I were having a discussion about the décor of his office when he was first setting it up, and we were calling each other increasingly sticky and silly pet names in the process, out of sarcasm. Finally Christian called me 'bunnikins', and I asked him where in heck he got that from. He proceeded to claim he'd heard one character on 'King's Castle' call another character that. So what I'd like to know is, is he right, or does he just have a faulty memory?"

Paloma tipped back with hearty laughter. "Oh wow, that awful word!" she cried, shaking her head. "He's actually right, Leslie. You'll see that episode in the first season when you get the DVD. Meredith's character fell in love with a rich, snobby classmate, and he was stringing her along, calling her the most outlandish nicknames. One of them was 'bunnikins', and I still remember it took Meredith and the actor playing the classmate almost an hour to film that scene because every time he said 'bunnikins', they both broke down laughing and couldn't stop. So yes, Christian's right!"

"Oh, no!" Leslie groaned and let her head fall back, staring into the bright blue sky. "I think I'll wait till the DVD comes out and we're actually watching that episode, and then I'll see if hearing that word happens to jog Christian's memory. Otherwise, if I tell him about it now, either he'll just think I'm crazy, or he'll never let me hear the end of it that he won that little argument—because I insisted that nobody had ever called anyone else 'bunnikins' on the show. Obviously I forgot all about Meredith's first-season love interest."

"How could you, with a silly nickname like that?" Paloma asked incredulously, and Leslie started to laugh with resignation. Paloma giggled, said her goodbyes and shook hands with Roarke, and headed across the clearing for the plane dock.

"What I find interesting," Roarke remarked, "is the fact that you remembered that peculiar little argument after four years."

Leslie made a face, then paused as something occurred to her and eyed him sidelong. "I see you remember it too, because you know how long ago it happened." Roarke folded his arms over his chest and gave her a dirty look, and she grinned innocently at him.

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_Next up: one woman is hoping that true love prevails when she tries to get her ex-husband back…_


End file.
